Predators
by Hawki
Summary: All humans are predators in their own right. Even in the advent of advanced technology and extra-solar colonization, human nature will always remain the same. A smuggling operation from one of ITO's facilities was but one case in point.
1. Smuggler's Den

_A/N_

_So, this is a multi-chaptered story for a game that isn't even released yet, and probably won't be for many more years. And even then, its links to the game are limited at best. In actual fact, this a dream adaptation story that I tailored to fit IM. Still, hopefully it'll be relatively decent._

* * *

**Interstellar Marines: Predators**

**Chapter 1: Smuggler's Den**

"If men were meant to fly, they'd have wings. And if they were meant to go into space...well, they'd need rockets, oxygen and the type of dedication I expect from all of you."

Doctor Shenton Cower didn't expect many of the new scientists to laugh at his joke. Heck, he wasn't even sure whether he truly meant the words as a joke or whether he was simply being authoritarian for the sake of it. But what he also didn't expect was the lack of interest displayed in all the newbies' eyes. Blank, unimpressed...except for the one currently fiddling with her sPhone. Apparently reception was good over 400km above the Earth, in a sterile lab that was part of an international space station.

"But we are in space," Shenton continued. "And your employers will need much more than the three things I just mentioned from each and every one of you. Because while it's a long trip back to Earth, it's a trip that _will _be made if you don't observe protocol and etiquette."

Doctor "I-like-to-wear-short-skirts" put her sPhone away at this point. Good. He was getting through to them...sort of. It was clear that the graduates were listening only because Cower's word was ITO's word, not out of any great need or desire to listen to whatever the elderly scientist had to say.. With glasses that had been made redundant by eye surgery and wisps of white hair that could have been rectified by a hair growth formula, Cower was the epitome of an old timer. Someone stuck in the 21st century. Someone who belonged to the 2070s baby boomer generation rather than Generation Y. Someone who was still resolved to carry out his welcome speech.

"This is Orbital Research Station Xeno-Thirteen," Cower continued. "It's not Valhalla, but you can at least breathe easy knowing that it isn't Phobos...yes, miss..."

"McEntire," answered one of the scientists. "And...um, just wondering...since this is labelled _Xeno-Thirteen..._"

"No, I'm not at liberty to discuss whether there are twelve other similar stations," Cower interrupted. "And no, you're not researching aliens." He put on a smile that he hoped was endearing. "You're going to be researching something much better."

Something that was hidden behind a blast shield. A blast shield that with the press of a button at one of the benches in the lab, began to rise.

_That'll keep the little bastards quiet for a few seconds..._

Taking the time to wipe his glasses, Cower briefly wished that more detail had been provided to the newcomers back on Earth...or Luna, or Mars, or wherever else they might have originated from in the solar system. Xeno-13 wasn't exactly a secret facility-not when it was in Earth orbit at the least. Nor was it partaking in research that existed outside the boundaries of its charter. Still, it wasn't advertised all that widely either. It was more a case of ITO's Research and Technology branch making the offers to rising stars in fields of science, rather than those stars making the applications themselves. Cower had been no different back in his day, before Xeno-13's current focus had even taken shape. Unlike the youths however, his reaction was quite different...

"Sharks..."

Cower glanced at the youth who'd spoken for the group. "Yes, Mister..."

"Robinson," he answered. "_Doctor_, Robinson. And again..._sharks_."

"Yes, _mister_, sharks," Cower answered. He stepped to one side, letting the misters and misuses get a full look at the main tank of the research lab. "Great whites to be exact. Or, as some people like to call them, _Carcharodon carcharias_."

"But..._sharks_..." one of the so-called scientists murmured.

"Yes. Like I said, _sharks_," Cower said firmly. "Creatures that were nearly hunted to extinction in the 21st century, but are now protected by all signatories to the Interplanetary Treaty Organization. Creatures that have more than three-hundred million years of evolution behind them. A genetic treasure-trove of information."

"But why research them in space?" Robinson asked. "I mean...well..."

"Because everything's better in space, dear boy," Cower answered. "And 'space sharks' sounds cool."

A few sniggers rippled through the group, but not as many as the elderly scientist was hoping for. Still, it was a disappointment he could live with. He'd done his part, what with providing a brief pep talk and a look at some of ITO's chief specimens. And as Doctor Suzuki came into the lab, it seemed like he could take an intermission while she prepared the new recruits for the second act.

"Cower..." the middle-aged woman murmured. "Been ruffling some feathers have you?"

"Just my job, ma'am," the old man answered. "Nothing more."

"I bet," the scientist said as she made a note on her data-pad before focusing her gaze on the recent graduates. "Still, most of their feathers seem to be in place, so I guess I'll have no trouble continuing their orientation."

Someone muttered something about sharks and chickens, but it was dissention that didn't last long under Suzuki's withering gaze. That was the beauty of eyes that were free of glasses and instead equipped with ocular implants that shone red at times.

"Well, follow me, lowly peons," Suzuki said eventually. "I'll leave the good doctor to clear up after you."

Cower scowled. The lab was meant to have been cleared up yesterday, to be immaculate when the new employees arrived. It wasn't meant to fall to him. Still, if Suzuki knew this, she clearly didn't care, briskly heading out of the room. And following her as if they'd got a "get out of Hell card," the scientists followed her. Followed her without question...without a glance back at the old man behind them...

Followed her so attentively that they didn't see the old man's artificial scowl be replaced with a genuine smirk.

"Sanctimonious bitch," the scientist murmured as he began "clearing up" the lab. "You're welcome to the little bastards..."

Cower had been born in a different century, but there were some things that never changed. Acting...deception...ensuring that he'd have to clear up the lab today, being left alone to do it...deception was a human trait that not even the glamour of the 22nd century could remove. Could do nothing to hinder any more than the non-existent security in the lab right now. Security so bereft of existence that there was nothing to stop Cower from making his way to one of the room's smaller water tanks, one containing infant sharks. Offspring of the ones in the main tank.

Would they miss their children? Probably not. But Cower didn't care anyway.

Right now, as he carefully moved the tank into a biohazard box and activated its stasis function, all he cared about was getting off this damn station.

* * *

_Bored bored bored bored..._

Ian Holmes was bored. So bored that he was reflecting on how bored he actually was, along with having a brief flashback to being brought before the board of his boarding school in regards to...well, nothing to do with a surfboard at least, but still...

_Bored bored bored bored..._

...he was bored.

People on Earth, or even on a lunar or Martian colony might have expressed surprise at this. True, being a security guard wasn't exactly the most glamorous profession in the solar system, but hey, he was in space. And while not exactly the final frontier if researchers of zero-point energy had anything to say, it was still the latest and greatest aspect of human exploration. And additionally, the young man had agreed with them. Not only would he be working in space, he'd be stationed on Orbital Research Station Xeno-13. A place that, judging by the name, would be very interesting to work at.

**Shuttle will be departing in twenty minutes. Please present yourself to officials before boarding the craft.**

_Boarding...there's that word again._

At first, working on a space station had been interesting. But it was interest that wore off as quickly as the muscles around his bones. Holmes was effectively restricted to the station's docking bay, his job boiled down to screening the few people that came on and off the station. Spaceflight had come a long way since the 20th century, but leaving Earth was still no laughing matter, and coupled with the secrecy surrounding the station, visits were few and far between. Shore leave was even rarer. So while Holmes was bored as he gazed at the line of scientists and lucky grunts that were headed for the shuttle, he was envious as well.

"You're clear...have a nice flight," the security guard murmured as he scanned the ID of a doctor whose name he'd forgotten, if he'd even bothered to learn it in the first place. "Next please..."

And so it continued. Two shuttle hatches, two guards including himself, and one line for each of them to deal with. A break from the usual monotony of standing around doing nothing, but it was still monotony in itself. And the wispy-haired scientist approaching him was no exception.

"ID please..." Holmes murmured.

Fumbling around for his ID, the scientist looked agitated, even worried. Probably just trepidation about the shuttle ride.

"Shenton Cower..." Holmes murmured as the details registered on his data-pad, taking the time to actually glance at the man's name. "Shore leave, or retirement?"

The man didn't react to the joke. No loss there though. Maintaining silence for the rest of the sequence, Holmes handed back the ID, taking note of one wrinkled hand taking the device, another clutching a biohazard-marked box.

_Probably nothing..._the guard reflected as he gestured Cower to move ahead as he came face to face with a scientist that had the virtue of being younger and also female. _It's been cleared..._

In actual fact, it was his job to clear such devices. Nothing more than a formality really, considering that he wasn't equipped to study bio-hazardous material. Still, as far as Holmes was concerned, it was monotony that he wasn't willing to put up with. Cower wasn't a danger. Heck, by the time Doctor "I-like-tossing-my-hair-in-a-seductive-manner" passed by, he'd already forgotten about the old geezer.

And as Holmes headed out of the bay for the de-pressurization sequence to begin, he knew that within a few hours, he'd have forgotten everything about this departure sequence, period.

* * *

**Shuttle 2 is now ready to depart. Our point of call is the Darwin Space Elevator, ETA, ninety-eight minutes. Please ensure that your seatbelts are fastened, as you will experience weightlessness during this flight. If you find yourself in discomfort, please use the plastic bag attached to the seat in front of you, and seal tightly after use. Thank you, and enjoy your flight.**

Listening to the pilot's voice, Shenton Cower couldn't believe his luck. The short travel time, that Darwin was the destination, that the shuttle had the virtue of not smelling like floating half-digested food from previous trips...it was the best he could have hoped for.

**Oh, and by the way, we shall be playing a short film for your pleasure, **_**This Side of Deimos**_**.**

...alright, maybe not the best. He could have done better than a B-grade shot that had only been shown at the 2149 Cleveland Film Festival.

Clutching the biohazard box close to his chest, Cower hoped that apart from the pilot's selection of film, things wouldn't deviate from their lucky streak. He'd inserted a bio-dampener into the biohazard box that would mask the bio-signs of the specimens he'd smuggled out, but anyone willing to expend time and energy on the device would easily get past it. He'd got it off the space station due to the laziness of the guard who'd cleared him, but the way he saw it, he had a 50/50 chance of getting it through the two sets of customs he'd be heading through. And that was assuming that no-one from the station alerted groundside staff of his disappearance and/or theft.

Yet in a way, it didn't matter. He was off the station.

And whether he succeeded or failed in his little scheme, he wasn't coming back.

* * *

_Update (09/03/12): Corrected grammar errors._

_Update (06/04/12): Made some grammar corrections and altered some wording. Also, in regards to some points raised concerning ch. 1 specifically:_

_-Ian Holmes, if anything, would be a reference to Iam Holm, who played Bilbo (not Frodo) Baggins in Jackson's _Lord of the Rings _trilogy. However, I'm afraid that it's very much a coincidence-my M.O. for developing names for characters varies (e.g. if I want a fantasy race or alien name, there's often certain 'rules' I have to abide by to make sure it sounds right, conforms to their culture, etc.) but for the average human in the average setting, it's a case of going to Wikipedia, keep clicking the random article tab until I get a name...but the names have to be from completely different articles. So while I did get a name similar to Ian Holm, I never actually touched his article in this process._

_-I haven't settled on a year in which this actually takes place in. From what little is known about the game's story/canon, the game can occur no earlier than 2156, but probably awhile afterwards. So while the use of 2149 is indicative of the century this story takes place in, it shouldn't be taken as a declaration of an exact year._


	2. Leader of the Pack

.

**Predators**

**Chapter 2: Leader of the Pack**

Saama Taylor. Middle-aged. Dumpy. Single mother of three. Taxi driver currently parked in the taxi ranks of Sydney Airport. Hoping for a long trip to help her make ends meet.

Glancing at a descending Airbus 980 and then at her cab's digital clock, Taylor realized this was a hope that she'd been hanging onto for the last two hours. Not the longest wait she'd ever had admittedly, but more than she cared for when parked outside what was still the main hub of air travel on the east coast. True, Europe accounted for most of ITO's aerospace traffic, and of such flights reaching Australia, Darwin was the primary destination due to the presence of its space elevator. But while Sydney was no longer the hub of international travel it had been less than a century ago, it was still the de facto point of arrival for those travelling domestically. Mankind had taken to the stars, but many were still willing to fly under them.

"Case in point..." Taylor murmured...

A bad sign in that she'd been here so long she was talking to herself. A good sign in that a wave of new arrivals had exited the domestic terminal, most of them having transferred from Darwin according to her cab's onboard computer. Passengers who weren't rich or famous, but still out of her league. sPhones, business suits, children clutching the latest action figures from Lunar Toys...it was another world entirely, both literally and figuratively. A world that people like her could only hear or read about. In her case, through the stories of her passengers, providing that they weren't too exhausted from aerospace travel.

"Hey, taxi! You free?"

"That's what the light says..." Taylor called out to the old man approaching her, getting out of her cab to help with his luggage. "Need a lift?"

"Of course I do, that's why I'm asking."

Well, so much for pleasantries. Also so much for the guy accepting the offer of an open boot. Granted, he didn't seem to need it, since all his luggage consisted of was a satchel bag with a cube-shaped bulge taking up most of its interior. But as he walked right past Taylor and got in the back seat, clutching the bag all the while, it was clear he wasn't much for manners either.

"Central Business District..." the man murmured.

"The CBD?" asked Taylor in surprise. "Why do-..."

"Just...take me there," the passenger rasped. "Right in the centre."

"Yes...of course sir," the taxi driver said, pulling out of the taxi rank.

"Step on it, will you?" the old man asked. "Bit of a hurry..."

"Yes sir. I'll...step on it."

It would be the last words that the pair would utter for the next half-hour or sir-a rarity by any driver's standards. Taylor had been on the job for years, and had found that even if a customer was travelling alone and wasn't in the mood for conversation, they'd still pass the time by chatting on their sPhone or similar communications device. But no...the old geezer simply sat in the back. Large eyes shining through large glasses, clutching his bag as if his life depended on it...it was as if Darwin was shipping in fruitcakes to its dilapidated south-eastern counterpart.

All in all, Taylor wasn't sure if it was safe to ask. "Dilapidated" was perhaps too harsh a term for Sydney, but the city, and its central business district had seen better days. Taylor had never been fortunate enough to study economics (or really study anything beyond secondary level education), but from what she understood, much of a city's success was based around its geographical location. Even now, Tokyo, London and New York were the 'big three' of ITO nations, given their interspaced location in regards to stock exchange. With the advent of space travel however, the economic sphere had shifted to cities that could make the most of it. Now an urban sprawl, Sydney hadn't been so lucky, and while a select few companies had stayed the course, its business sphere had gone the way of the Siberian tiger. Once a hub of commerce, now a series of buildings that either changed hands every few months as companies came and went, or just waited for urban renewal.

"Drop me off here," the passenger said suddenly.

Bringing the cab to the side of the road, Taylor didn't object to his demand. Far better to get the old guy out of her cab and head for the airport to find someone who might be willing to give her a more decent destination.

"Alright sir," the driver said as she brought the counter to a halt. "Do you want to pay by-..."

"Here," the old man said as he shoved a series of notes into the front. "Consider it a tip."

_Tip my ass..._Taylor thought as the notes spread around the front seat. Seemingly generous, but who the hell used paper nowadays anyway? Old geezers and people who didn't want their transactions traced when they used a card or a scan. Heck, as she watched the passenger stumble out of the car, Taylor reflected that maybe both sets of criteria applied to him.

Either way, as she left her passenger in the dusty street, she didn't give him a second thought.

* * *

_God this place is a shithole._

Shenton supposed that was a bit unfair as he shifted through the proverbial shit to get to the proverbial hole. There were worse places one could live, and it wasn't God's fault that Sydney hadn't been able to make the transition to a world that was but one of many in humanity's corner of space. Yet after coming from Darwin, after flying over North Australia to reach Eastern New South Wales, it was as if...well, if God _did _exist, then Shenton Cower was Lucifer.

_Well, better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven..._the scientist thought as he brushed by someone lucky enough to be seemingly employed, and head into a building that had seen better days and more businesses. _Or at least get rich by doing the Devil's work..._

The tiredness Shenton had felt from the flight, not alleviated by a taxi ride that could have exposed him to ITO agents, had all but evaporated. Fresh air (or city fresh at any rate), adrenalin, the electronic chime as he walked into what could only be described as a general store...this was it...

"Wassup dude?"

Shenton kept walking to the counter at the store's end, attended only by a middle-aged man with a white face, jet-black hair in a spiky style and enough body piercings to pass as an echidna. The store owner no doubt...

"Travelled far?" the man asked.

"A bit."

"How much of a _bit_?"

"A bit far for my liking."

"And for mine?"

"I wouldn't know..."

Silence descended between the two men, the owner leaning on the counter with an e-magazine in one hand, Shenton standing tall with his own hand on his cargo. Silence that masked even the sound of traffic coming from outside. Silence that was eventually broken...

"Follow me."

The storeowner headed for a door behind the counter, opening it with some metallic object that Shenton assumed was a non-electronic key, though he couldn't be sure. What he _was _sure of however, was that he'd said the scripted lines correctly, that he'd correctly identified himself as a seller, and that storeowner/middle-man Dore Williams was willing to let him through the doorway to opportunity.

"In you go," the salesman grunted, opening the door.

Shenton went in without protest. He might have insisted otherwise had he been suspicious or armed, but was neither, and for good reason. Williams was a shady character, but he was a character who nonetheless had a knack for getting people what they wanted. He could have simply taken Shenton's cargo and left him for dead if he wanted, but having planned this sale for months, the scientist knew better. Dead people meant dead bodies. Dead bodies meant suspicion. And if that suspicion reached the ears of his buyers, they might be more reluctant to deal with him.

"Got the goods?" the 'salesman' asked, having followed his seller inside the room and locked the door behind him.

"Hmm?" Shenton asked, momentarily caught up in the display. Most of the goods were electronic in nature, but there were a few more...interesting pieces of merchandise to be found. A preserved monkey head for one...

"The goods. _Now_."

"Alright, alright..." Shenton murmured, tearing his eyes away from Louie the Chimp and setting down his cargo on the table in the room's centre. "It's not as if anyone's going to be visiting the store front anytime soon."

Williams remained silent, as only someone with dark eye-shade could. Remained silent right up until Shenton opened the case, revealing...

"Sharks."

The scientist sighed, drawn back to Xeno-13 in more ways than one. "Yes, Williams, _sharks_. As I told you."

"But..._sharks..._small sharks..."

The salesman diverted his gaze from the specimens, matching Cower's more confident one (or what he hoped was confident). He knew this would be a hard sell, but for someone who apparently wanted to conduct the deal quickly, he was taking his sweet time in doing so.

"Williams, these are sharks from space," Shenton said quickly. "Sharks that ITO's finest are doing research on. Sharks that have malleable genomes."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning that anyone who gets their hands on them has hundreds of millions of years of genetic history to play around with. Anything from the cure to cancer to the next bio-weapon."

"Bio-weapons are banned, doctor."

"And so are most drugs. Don't see many people worrying about that though."

Williams fell silent again, rubbing a hand against his pierced jaw. It was understandable, if frustrating, Shenton supposed, what with having only the scientist's words that the specimens were valuable, and little recourse to retrieve his finances if they weren't. But they were running against the clock, and running was something that Doctor Cower was too old for.

"Well? If you don't get a buyer lined up, I'm sure they'll find a home with Louie."

"Actually, his name's Bob..." the middle-man said, gesturing towards the monkey head. "And...well, fine. It's a deal."

"A pleasure," Shenton lied, already wanting to get out of here and start planning his anonymous retirement. "Now give me the money."

Silently, Williams handed his seller a wad of notes.

Life was good.

* * *

Life was bad.

Alright, maybe it wasn't that _bad_, but it certainly wasn't that good either. Not when Gettis Fellman was standing around in the underground garage of the UniStrand Building along with two other security guards, waiting for a shipment that was an hour late. And with traffic in Sydney being at a premium, that could only mean it was the type of cargo that was late for a reason.

"Van's here," Eldon muttered.

Gettis rolled his eyes. "No shit Sherlock. Do you want to read its license plate too?"

"C-H-R-one-nine-six. It's the one."

"Never mind..."

As Gettis had reflected earlier, life wasn't that bad, but it wasn't good. In a good life, he'd be a security guard on an ITO space station, seeing the wonders of science. In a good life, he wouldn't be working for UniStrand, supervising and delivering materials that were too "important" for regular postage. In a good life, he wouldn't be going from boredom to tension in the space of a few seconds. Because while waiting around for cargo didn't present that much of a risk, actually receiving it did.

"Gentlemen," the driver said as he got out of the van and headed for its rear. "Been waiting long?"

"Just open the damn back," Gettis snapped.

"Sure thing. Just sign here please."

Gettis handed the data-pad to Grunewald while he and Eldon watched the driver head into the van. It was packed with crates, but there'd only be one thing coming out. Something small no doubt, but worth a pretty penny...whatever pennies were.

Gettis knew this work wasn't honest, but he did consider himself to be an honest man, hence why he'd given the pad to Grunewald to sign rather than take part in even more dishonesty himself. Black hair, brown eyes, a bit of facial hair and mixed Caucasian/Arabic ethnicity, he looked like the everyday man...the reason why UniStrand had accepted his application in the first place, apparently appreciating people who could look normal. That, and he knew how to use a handgun. Or maybe he was just overanalysing.

"And here it is," the driver declared, bringing out a featureless metal case that if Eldon's look of surprise as he took it was any indication, was much lighter than it looked. "One...whatever it is."

_Whatever indeed...now piss off._

Feeling tense was never pleasant. But UniStrand had made one thing perfectly clear to when he'd been given the job of a security guard, and that was that feeling tense kept you alive. So far, as far as Gettis was concerned, his weekly wage was what did.

To be fair, UniStrand _did _keep many others alive. Genetics was big business in the 22nd century. People could cry foul all they wanted, but it didn't change the fact that GMCs kept the world's population fed, and gene therapy had greatly reduced mortality rates in even the world's poorest countries. Yet it was a business that was heavily regulated, whether it be a gene to make rice require less water, or genetic research that could lead to weaponization. It was regulation that businesses like UniStrand were willing to comply with in theory, but in practice, were always trying to beat their competitors to the next big breakthrough. And while that was also sound in theory, such as the latest drive to cultivate crops that could be grown on Mars, the methods behind putting such theories into practice were...iffy.

And that was why companies such as UniStrand were willing to operate in places like Sydney, Gettis supposed. Cities where there was no shortage of space for setting up shop, and where it was easy to do business without too much scrutiny. It kept the city going...but UniStrand was a business. And like any business, it had to put its own interests first. And that meant taking these kind of precautions when doing these kind of deals. Not because they were illegal, but because other such companies wanted to do the same thing.

"And that's that then," the driver said cheerfully, having taken back his pad from Grunewald. "Enjoy the goods."

Grunewald snorted. Eldon looked at the case suspiciously. And Gettis simply stared at the driver, wanting him to leave. And to his relief, he did. Got in his van, started the engine, started driving off...

...and exploding.

"Son of a bitch!" Grunewald exclaimed as he was sent sprawling along with his fellow guards.

"Oh my god..." Eldon whispered, rising to his feet first and staring at the van.

Gettis gritted his teeth. God...Allah...where was the bastard when you needed him? And why was Eldon standing instead of...

"Get to cover!" Gettis yelled, drawing his pistol and making his way to one of the garage's pillars. "Move, move!"

Eldon did move...to the van. Approaching it to lend a hand no doubt.

"Eldon, get back-..."

All he got was a hail of gunfire for his trouble.

"**Shit!"**

Gettis averted his eyes as fountains of blood ripped through Eldon's chest. One hand fell on the ground, the other on the case he was still carrying. And as a figure clad in stealth gear darted towards the van for cover, it was clear that it was the crate, and not its wielder, that was the target.

_A hit...by Allah...a hit..._

"You bastard!" Grunewald yelled, opening fire with his pistol. Gritting his teeth, Gettis did as well. Two people were dead, a van was in flames and all because of a bloody _box_.

"Come on! Come on! Come-..."

Grunewald fell silent. That was what happened when a bullet went between your eyes.

_Shit shit shit!_

Ducking down behind his pillar, Gettis quickly glanced at his pistol's LED-nine bullets left, plus another fifteen in his spare clip. He didn't want this...didn't want his friends dead. Didn't want to be caught up in a corporate war. Didn't want to die at the hands of some hitman...

It was for those reasons that when the figure darted out of cover for the blood-splattered cargo, he opened fire. He didn't want to die. So to achieve that, this monster had to die first.

Simple in theory. But as the figure grabbed the box in one hand and cart wheeled in the other, it was all for nothing.

"Just...die!"

Gettis fired and missed. The figure fired a round that tore through the security guard's torso.

_Just...just.._

The security guard crawled back behind his pillar, managing to eject his clip, but not managing to insert the second one.

_Tired...tired..._

He heard footsteps. He heard sirens. He heard footsteps heading the other way.

And after losing consciousness, he heard nothing.

* * *

_A/N_

_Minor tidbit in that I actually had the space elevator going to Perth originally. However, it was pointed out in outside feedback that this probably wouldn't be the best place to put such a structure, that any space elevator would be best to be located as close to the equator as possible. Hence I changed it to Darwin-actually 12 degrees south, but from what I've looked up, 20 degrees is postulated as a maximum distance for a space elevator, and one has to make allowances for future technology. And fiction. Fiction with space sharks, AIs, and space sharks. 0_0_

_Update (09/03/12): Corrected spelling error._


	3. Alpha Males

.

**Interstellar Marines: Predators**

**Chapter 3: Alpha Males**

"Damnit David, I've never seen such a bunch of pretentious assholes."

"Well sir, I'm sure they-..."

"Shut up. I wasn't talking to you."

Technically, he had been talking to the aide. But when you were the chief executive of a prominent company specialising in genetic research and its applications, technicalities were just that. And walking out of the board meeting, McGraw Hill's mind was on a range of issues that didn't extend to the formalities of language.

"_Unacceptable Hill. This is simply unacceptable."_

"_Losing a valuable item? Why wasn't there more security?"_

"_Think of public relations, about having two bodies on our hands."_

"_Imagine how much we'll lose through compensation."_

"_Hill, are you even listening?"_

Hill had been listening. Listening to the bunch of nimwads spend a good three hours playing the blame game, most of said blame going to UniStrand's chief executive. Never mind the slash of the budget last year that cut into how much they could spend on security. Never mind the fact that many of them were running scared that the bartering of non-cleared genetic goods could poke holes in their golden parachutes if word got out to an authority with enough power to be able to avoid sticking its head in the sand.

_Well, better a head in sand than a head in one's arse..._the man thought as he continued to head down the corridors of the UniStrand Building's top floor. The leeches that constituted the board would be heading down the elevators to ponder his future, but in the meantime, he wanted to put as much distance between himself and them as he could.

Not for his benefit. For theirs. Best to end the day with only two casualties.

"Say, David..." the CEO began.

His aide looked up. "You...you're talking to me this time, sir?"

"Yes, I am. But only for you to arrange a meeting with our chief of security. There's a leak somewhere, and despite what the board says, that's our top priority."

"Yes sir," replied the aide as he typed on his data pad. "Although I don't know what we'll be able to get out of that angle. From what I've heard, only one of the three guards has a chance of-..."

"David?"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking now."

The aide nodded and took a left between some cubicles to head for the elevators, already being filled up by old men and women that if Hill was lucky, he wouldn't be seeing again for the next twenty-four hours. But if running UniStrand had taught Hill one thing, it was best not to rely on luck. At best, it could leave you disappointed. At worst, as three unlucky men had found out this morning, it could leave you dead.

Well, at least they could rest in peace. Unlike Hill, who entered his office and collapsed into his chair, found rest hard to come by.

"And in other news today, the Eastern New South Wales government insists that it will keep its election promise of upgrading all of City Rail with maglev technology by-..."

Hill shut the radio off.

It didn't help.

Rubbing his eyes with one hand as he took off his tie with another, Hill gazed around his room, its cleanliness mirroring the top floor and most of the building as a whole. It mirrored himself too-short black hair on both his head and facial area, an athletic build that was hard to find in an office environment...when he'd first started working for UniStrand, some people had called him "cowboy" for it-someone out of place both physically and, considering that he actually hailed from the United States, geographically as well. And the fact that he'd spent most of his twenties and early thirties in border patrol. Unfortunately, guarding the border between Mexico and his homeland was no way to get any excitement out of life, with incidents being few to non-existent. He'd seen it as a stepping stone to being posted on the more...adventurous border and the Democratic Republic of Alaska, but since ITO had taken over that job, it seemed that all his experiences were for naught. No-one would be interested in his stories of pulling over people who, if they were trying to enter the US illegally, were doing so for reasons that were often in the realm of expired passports.

Apparently it had been different over a century ago, Hill thought, as he rubbed his eyes. Good times...

So in the end, border patrol was going nowhere. UniStrand however, was, even if Sydney wasn't. No-one cared about a sedate career in California, but they _did _care that he'd studied business-enough to land him a job and set him on a course up through the ranks and levels of its Sydney headquarters. More challenging than anything else his life had provided thus far, and considering the role GMCs played in the world, arguably more important. So now, in his late forties and the CEO of a thriving business, things were looking up.

At least until today. All he could do now was look down to the loading dock, now being combed over by the police in what PR had managed to claim was an activist attack.

"Mister Hill?" asked a voice.

"Hmm?" the CEO asked, his mind drawn out of memories by the sound of his office's intercom.

"Mister Hill, there's a call for you," came the voice of his secretary. "A Mister Williams would like to talk to you."

"...patch him through."

Rising to his feet and closing his office's shutters, Hill briefly wished he was using a good 'ol fashioned phone instead of a holo-projector, wanting nothing more than to lie down and take part in a conversation how everything from gunfights to global warming was his fault. Yet it was a wish that didn't last long. Important men had the best technology, and aspired to be the best they could be as well. He'd use the holo-projector because he _could_. And it would also show whoever contacted him (bar telemarketers of course-Jeanne always screened them out herself) that he was willing to meet them face to face...as far as technology could provide that was. And it being Mister Williams calling...

"G'day mate. How are ya?"

...It being Mister Williams, only low-lifes like him could do such a poor portrayal of this country's accent.

"Fine, Williams..." Hill lied.

"Really? I wouldn't have thought so?"

"Why?"

Williams let out a snigger that took Hill back to the board meeting, with all the smugness that was present in those that wanted him gone. "What, haven't you been listening to the radio? Nasty spot of bother in your garage. Some activist attack that your security guards failed to stop."

"No-one listens to the radio anymore Williams. Not for news anyway."

"Hmm...maybe that's why no-one's buying the government's latest crap on maglev trains."

"And if you don't get to the point, I'm not buying any of _your _crap."

In the past, the game of words could go on for a whole ten minutes. Hill knew his line was secure, but Williams didn't get to be the buyer and seller of illicit items that he was without making his own checks. Hill had dealt with him in the past often enough to know that while Williams was a lowlife, he was more in the realm of the cockroach than, say, malaria. While the latter had finally been eradicated, the former would probably be here even after the sun went nova.

"Well then, down to the crap then," Williams declared. "Little something to make up for what you lost today. Little something to soften the pain..."

Hill sighed. Not a cockroach. Some kind of spineless lifeform that was native to Mars for all he knew, feeding off the misery of others. Still, better Mars than the homeworld of the board members. And better to listen to him than cut him off...

"I'm listening..."

* * *

Sally Goulet was blue.

Not emotionally of course. Right now, with a tidy sum of money having been wired to her off-planet account, she was quite satisfied. No...Goulet was blue, as in, blue was who and what she was. An alias. A codename. A term that made her old one redundant.

Sitting in a car nestled in one of the city's many free parking areas, Blue certainly didn't look like the kind of person that would be using a codename. But as she and numerous others had learnt, looks could be deceiving. Applying for the Interstellar Marines years back had _looked _like a good job choice, but unable to cope with the psychological pressures of being in space, she'd washed out, albeit washing out with mastery of everything else that ITO's premier military branch had taught her. Earth had _looked _peaceful and orderly up to that point, but even tension between ITO and CoSEA nations not-withstanding, there was still plenty of work for someone of her calibre to perform on the third rock orbiting the sun. And thanks to a facelift, she _looked _like an old lady, someone who hadn't moved with the times of cell regeneration and other such treatments. A choice on her own part. Make her foes underestimate her, and her employers to value her even more.

Not that the security guards she'd shot this morning had got a chance to actually see her face, considering that she'd been wearing a stealth suit at the time that covered her entire body. But now, sitting in her car on a pleasant day, far removed from the sound of sirens, no-one would suspect her. The police were on the lookout for some kind of activist that knew how to wield firearms and explosives, not some dear old lady listening to the radio. Listening to a broadcast that was far more interesting than the usual empty promises that came from an election year.

"_Why should I deal with you Williams? Last I heard, you were dealing with monkey legs."_

"_Heads, actually. And I sold Bob this afternoon."_

Blue let out a grin. She knew Williams, or rather, knew _of _him. She hadn't dealt with the man herself, but from what she'd come to understand from interactions with her various employers, he was but one of many suppliers of illicit goods, ranging from the technological to the biological. She wasn't quite sure how monkey heads fit the bill, but heck, the piece she'd stolen from UniStrand could have been an ape's rectum for all she knew.

"_But I've got something even better. Sharks."_

_Sharks? _The assassin wondered.

"_Sharks?" _came the voice of McGraw.

Well, at least the CEO's reaction was genuine. As secure as his private line supposedly was, it still hadn't stopped her from bugging it when she'd entered the building a few weeks back (under orders from HelixRail) disguised as an electrician. It was under orders from her most recent employer, HelixRail, and through the information she'd gained, that they knew when and where UniStrand's next illicit shipment would come. They got what they wanted, she got what she wanted, and if that had been the end of the story, she'd have already been on a flight out of the country to spend her earnings by now.

"_Yeah man. Sharks. Like you've never seen."_

But it wasn't the end of the story. The tap was still active, and it seemed that UniStrand's CEO was in the midst of arranging another drop.

"_Why should I trust you? Like you said, an...activist interrupted our last delivery."_

"_Yeah, but that wasn't from me, was it?" _Williams asked. _"Besides, these little babies are beauts. Got them from some ITO scientist. All the way from a space station if you can believe it."_

"_In this day and age? Course I can believe it. It's believing _you_ I'm wary of."_

"_Fine man. I'm sure your competitors will be more interested in whatever genetic research ITO's conducting."_

And Blue as well. She wasn't sure how much monkey heads or space sharks went for in the corporate world, but material straight from an ITO research station? Williams could have been lying of course, but if it was true...well, it was interesting. Both out of personal curiosity and the prospect of the pay cheque she'd receive for delivering such quality goods if it came to it.

"_Well, Mister Hill?" _Williams asked. _"Do you still want to be king of the hill? Or stuck being McGraw?"_

"_...Fine. I'll do it. I'll send someone around to pick up the goods."_

"_Alright...But wait until this evening. The cops are out in force, and I don't want to be mixed up in your little corporate war."_

"_Shame...For someone who's so full of himself, you'd make an excellent shield."_

And with that, the conversation ended.

Blue remained silent for a few moments, drumming her fingers on the car wheel, as if she was actually going to use it on a model that had auto-drive. There'd be more to come in the communications between the two. But that meant waiting, and the longer she waited, the more likely it was her tap would be discovered. Certainly after her hit, UniStrand would be seeking to investigate the possibility of a leak within their organization. And it wasn't as if she hadn't just been paid handsomely for her past work.

On the other hand, money was money. You could never have too much of it. And if she performed another job for HelixRail, chances were they'd be more likely to hire her again in the future. Not that she had any intention of selling herself to just one organization, but making that organization be more likely to employ her was a definite bonus. And with the thought of how far that bonus could go, Blue soon found herself typing a number on her sPhone.

"Welcome to HelixRail, this is Martin speaking, how may I help you?" came a voice on the other end.

"Well, that's just it, Martin," Blue smirked. "Thing is, I was wondering how I might be able to help _you_..."

* * *

_Update (06/04/2012): Corrected spelling and grammar errors, along with tweaking some wording. Also:_

_-McGraw Hill isn't a reference to the company. Same situation as Ian Holm(es) I'm afraid, as explained in ch. 1._

_-In all honesty, I never intended Blue's original retrieval to be a plot point beyond establishing her capabilities and introducing Fellman into the story. Maybe an oversight, but for those wondering the same way, don't bother. _


	4. Migration

.

**Interstellar Marines: Predators**

**Chapter 4: Migration**

York Powers wasn't a man that stood out.

That was just as well, all things considered. True, he was the CEO of HelixRail, but the more you stood out, the more likely you were going to end up with egg on your face at best, or a bullet through your face at worst. Admittedly there was little to be gained from assassinating someone like him, but still, better safe than sorry.

It was in the spirit of "better safe than sorry" that he was walking through the streets of Sydney's CBD, closely followed by two personal security guards about ten metres behind him. An operation against UniStrand had gone off without a hitch, bar the police presence, and he thought it best to be out and about rather than being in his office, as an easy target for investigators or the media. Not that there was any reason they should suspect him, but he'd rather just let the whole thing blow over. Crazed activist, tragic loss of life, importance of genetic research stressed, etc. Either he could be alone, or blend in with what constituted a crowd in a city that had seen better days.n

And despite all this, he could still be disturbed.

Scowling, York glanced at his sPhone. No real businessman turned off his doo-hicky, but that was by necessity rather than by choice. Still, he _had _chosen this lifestyle-a "self made man," as he put it. And seeing that it wasn't coming from the HelixRail building, there was perhaps at least some hope it wouldn't pertain to unwelcome questions.

"York Powers speaking."

"Hello Yorky. How's the weather?" a female voice inquired.

"Blue skies...as usual."

"Actually, they're grey. But don't worry, close enough."

The CEO's scowl deepened, not helped by him having to gesture to his personal guard that he intended to stop here, risking more attention being drawn to himself. He knew who this was. Why she was calling however, was another matter entirely.

"What do you want Blue?" York asked. "And how did you get this number?"

"Oh, darling Martin gave it to me. Nice boy you know. Very pleasant."

"Yes...indeed," York murmured, making a mental note to shift the idiot to another department. "Very helpful indeed."

"Yes...and speaking of help, it's actually something _I _may be able to help you with."

The businessman remained silent. He didn't know what the assassin's angle was, not after the hit she'd conducted and the payment she'd recieved. What he did with the drop was his business. So why was she involved?

"As you know, I tapped Mister Hill's line, to know when and where the drop would be," Blue said. "Well, turns out it's still paying off. Listen to this."

York did listen as a recording played. One of a conversation between what was presumably Hill and Williams. He'd recognise the second voice anywhere.

"_Fine...but wait for this evening. The cops are out in force, and I don't want to be mixed up in your little corporate war."_

"_Shame...for someone who's so full of himself, you'd make an excellent shield."_

York smirked as the recording ended. He wasn't sure what Blue's angle was, but it was good to know that Hill was sweating under the pressure. No matter what people said, it was still a universe of survival of the fittest. Anything that hurt UniStrand benefitted HelixRail by default.

"Nice guys," Blue interjected. "But not like you of course."

"Pardon?"

"Well, you know...Hill's got his own people going for the...sharks. But I'm sure you'd be able to help a poor old woman-..."

"Cut the bullshit," York interrupted. "I know your M.O. And I don't know why I should even care. Not even when you can't say 'sharks' without hesitation."

"So...you don't want my help?"

"I'm not going to push my luck," York declared. "Not now. If Hill wants to deal with Williams, that's his business. With any luck, it'll be a dud and UniStrand will go one step closer to being out of business."

"But what if it isn't?" Blue asked. "What if Williams is telling the truth?"

"And if he isn't? I've spent time and money on you. What makes you think I want to do it twice for an unknown factor."

"Because you're a businessman," Blue pointed out. "Because you know that if this _is _the real deal, UniStrand might be placed on the pedestal of genetics, with your board of directors asking you how this happened."

York remained silent. He cast his gaze out over the city, running a hand through his greasy black hair as he did so. The hitwoman was right in one regard-if UniStrand _did _get its hands on ITO technology, it could severely escape the capitalist sphere of genetic technology. And it wasn't like she was lying to him-he understood the woman well enough to know that her loyalty was to money. There was no reason for her to set him up any more than there was for her to favour one employer over the other. Heck, if UniStrand had offered her a pickup job, she'd probably take it. Heck, she _would _take it, no questions asked, no answers given as to why two bodies had gone off to the morgue.

Life was so simple sometimes...

"So Yorky? Made a decision yet?" Blue asked, interrupting her employer's thoughts. "Feel free to say no if you want. I'll be watching the news to see how things pan out."

"If...if you do this..." York began. "What's your M.O.?"

"Oh, the usual," the former marine said airily. "Follow the pickup, ghost it, retrieve the package. I'll probably be firing some guns as well, maybe an explosion, but hey, ABC's more focussed on Martian bombs nowadays anyway. Sydney can take two in the same day."

"Fine...do it," York said. "But you'll receive payment only _after _I retrieve the package. And _after _I verify its validity."

"Aw, Yorky..." Blue simpered. "Don't you trust me?"

"Course not."

"Good. Because dealing with idiots makes me want to enforce social Darwinism."

And with that, the conversation ended. Probably one of the few York would have all day.

And all things considered, he was perfectly fine with that.

* * *

Bescene Myrda liked private hospitals. Or rather, she disliked them less than public ones.

More efficient, fewer patients, less staff, and smaller. All in all, it made the travel time for her and Mr. Hill significantly reduced, as they walked through the corridors of UniHealth-a private hospital used by UniStrand for its employees and the people who could afford its care. And yet, for all these pros, there was one con that she couldn't help but keep in mind-she was there.

"Is this really necessary?" the scientist asked Hill. "Couldn't I wait outside?"

"No. You can't."

"Why?" Myrda asked. "He's simply some lapdog who's providing transport."

"_And _was shot this morning," the CEO pointed out. "Not to mention watching two of his co-workers be killed. I think we owe him our presence."

Myrda snorted. "All you owe him is some compensation and a non-disclosure agreement."

A few people in UniStrand knew where the line was when it came to Hill. Yet Myrda was one of the few who knew where it was safe to cross. Maybe it was due to them being similar in age, similar in appearance bar gender, or maybe that she was smart, and knew how the game was played. Which was why she wasn't so keen to be working with the lapdog Hill had assigned her. Because either he didn't know how the game was played, or by virtue of letting a drop be taken, had failed in the game. So why he was Hill's choice for his job was a mystery.

Either way, as Hill opened the patient's door, it became a moot point.

"Mister Fellman," the CEO said as the two of them walked in. "How are you feeling?"

"Crap."

Myrda smirked as she gazed at the man before her, sitting on the bed in the midst of putting on his shoes-all part of civilian clothing. She had little respect for him, but at least he had balls, not to mention the ability to think with them.

"Um...yes..." Hill said, closing the door behind him and the geneticist as he did so. "I understand that the surgery went well?"

"No scars, if that what you mean," Fellman murmured, tapping his chest with one hand while putting on his second shoe with the other. "The doctors here know their stuff."

_Doctors my arse..._Myrda reflected. _Simple nano-surgery...why are they even getting paid the same amount as me?_

"That's good to hear," Hill said, trying to look reassuring as he did so. "So I take it you're good to go?"

"Yes. Head home...have a beer...watch some cricket..."

"It's winter."

"Then I'll watch rugby instead."

It was...interesting, Myrda thought, how Fellman continued to refuse to meet Hill's gaze. Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew what Hill wanted, and was trying his best to get out of it.

The CEO cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure rugby league-..."

"Union."

"...union...will be interesting," Hill said eventually. "Though if you have the time...I was wondering if you might be able to do me a quick-..."

"No."

And there it was. The offer. The refusal. The point where Fellman got to his feet and met Hill's gaze. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and Myrda waited to see who got to it first.

Hill did.

"Mister Fellman...I understand how you must feel," the businessman began.

"Oh really?" the security guard asked. "So you know what it's like to watch your friends die. To be shot in the chest. To be given a day off, some compensation, and the knowledge that I'll have to come back to work on Thursday."

"Yes, I do," Hill said kindly. "Which is why I'm willing to offer you a bonus...something that would allow you to find a safer line of work. A bonus that stems from what you might call a milk run."

"...I'll pass," Fellman said. "Now if you excuse me..."

"Two million."

Myrda smiled faintly as she saw Fellman's eyes light up for a second. Perhaps he _did _know how the game was played. Or more likely, he was just another human being. Everyone had their price, everyone had a love of money, and while you could perch yourself on the moral high ground, all it took was a pebble to start the avalanche that would take you down with it. It was a pebble that Hill had thrown, and seeing the effect he had, he proceeded with the briefing.

"This is Doctor Bescene Myrda," Hill continued, gesturing towards his employee. "The one who'll be picking up the material. The one who you'll be escorting."

Myrda stuck out a hand. Fellman didn't take it. Instead he turned to Hill.

"This material..." he asked. "I take it that it's similar material to what Eldon and Grunewald were killed for."

"Of course," Hill answered. "You expected otherwise? It's a dog eat dog world, Mister Fellman. A world of predators. Survival of the fittest. You're simply lucky in that while you are one of UniStrand's dogs of war, your lives are more in sync with a cat."

"And do I have a cat's lifespan?" Fellman asked. "Is my fur black?"

"That's up to you," said Hill.

Myrda had to hand it to Hill, he seemed to be able to toe the line between caring boss who wanted to help out an employee, and a boss who wanted to get ahead in the corporate sector. Fellman had been shot...but that could actually form a case for using him, in that he'd not only survived, but managed to get off a few shots based on the inspection of his pistol. By giving him the money, Hill could shut him up, along with giving him the incentive to retire, and disassociate himself from UniStrand. And if by some chance someone attacked their transport, and Fellman was killed...well, in a way, that could work for the company as well.

_Just as long as I'm not killed._

"And if I'm shot at...again?" Fellman asked.

Hill snorted. "That's statistically unlikely, Mister Fellman. But if you are...well, good luck."

"You really don't care what happens to me, do you?"

"Actually, I do," Hill answered, with a sincerity that surprised Myrda. "I hope for your sake that you pull this off, that you get your money, and you live a fulfilling life. But I also care about UniStrand's board, investors, and finances. So while I'm willing to give you a lease on a new life, I need you to do something to justify that."

"Even if it's illegal?"

Hill's eyes narrowed. "Don't take the moral high ground Fellman. You lost it as soon as you started considering this job."

The security guard sat back on the bed, running his hands through his hair. Hill stood still. Myrda tapped her foot. And in the hospital, numerous other things occurred.

Fellman getting up and saying "alright," was but one of them.

* * *

_Update (25/05/12): Tightened some of the writing._


	5. Territorial

.

**Interstellar Marines: Predators**

**Chapter 5: Territorial**

Even now, two centuries from John Kander's time, money made the world go round.

Never mind the effects of gravity. Never mind the impact that had created the moon billions of years ago, hypothetically sending the now blue word into a spin. No...money spun the world like a spinning top, and there was always someone's hand to ensure it would never stop. Even on the moon and Mars, there was the proverbial hand, ready to shorten their days. Their days, and every poor sod who tried to yank the spinning top away. And as Gettis Fellman bitterly reflected, sods like him who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Standing alone in some dingy general store, the security/bodyguard laid a hand to his chest, the ghost pain of the bullets still lingering. He hated this. Hated being shot. Hated losing his friends. Hated being treated as cannon fodder by UniStrand, and then being sent back into the figurative, and possibly literal, firing line. But above all, he hated himself. Hated how Hill had bought his dignity. A _good _person would have turned the offer down. But Gettis knew he wasn't that man. He was like any other human being, ready to make a big buck if the opportunity presented itself. Eldon and Grunewald were dead, while he was set to walk away a millionaire because he hadn't had the decency to die alongside them.

At the very least though, he could take some small comfort in that he was no worse than the people around him. Not Doctor Myrda at least-it was clear where her interests lay, and it certainly wasn't in using science as a means to promote the human condition. Nor was this Williams fellow-anyone who dressed like a 21st century reject automatically qualified as being suspicious, but that strange conversation he and the doctor had had before they'd headed into the back room...he was no stranger to this line of work. Even if he was taking his sweet damn time.

Or it could have been Myrda. He'd seen her take in a bio-scanner and gene sampler. Devices that he recognised, but had never had the opportunity to use himself. After all, money made the world go round. And average grades and general interest in science wasn't enough to give that opportunity without the money to back it up. All he had to worry about in the realm of backing up was watching the windows and keeping a hand on his pistol. Same make as the one he'd had this morning, only with a laser targeter. UniStrand clearly hadn't spared any expense. But then again, they were probably relying on secrecy more than brute force here.

It was evening, winter's sun setting early. And since their destination was a north shore sector (at least as far as he was concerned), it seemed that the loot was going to go to a secondary lab or something. All he had to do was drive Myrda to the first drop point.

And as the back door opened, it was a drive that seemed set to begin.

"Thank you Mister Williams," the scientist said pleasantly, with more warmth than she'd shown Gettis all day. "Good evening."

Williams didn't follow. He was probably closing up shop...his real shop. After seeing all the crummy stuff on display here, Gettis doubted that Williams would have given a damn if he simply helped himself.

"Got what you needed?" the security guard asked Myrda.

"Yes."

"You going to tell me what it is?"

"No."

"You going to use responses with more than one syllable?"

"Shut up smartarse," the scientist snapped. "You're here to do a job and collect your pay cheque."

"And your job?"

Myrda let out a grim smile. "My job is the same. Only my cheque is even larger."

"Glad to hear it." Grimacing, Gettis gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

"After you."

Fellman wasn't surprised. Always send the meat shield out into the open first, and all that. Or maybe she just didn't want him to hear her conversation. He wasn't actively listening, but he did hear his employer talking on her sPhone.

"This is Shark, calling Marlin. Package has been retrieved."

The security guard rolled his eyes as he walked to the car. Apparently human originality hadn't changed any more than their desire for money had.

"Yes, it checked out. I...we...we may have hit the jackpot here. ITO's on to something...or was..."

Gettis made a conscious effort not to listen at that point-ignorance was bliss, and might save his life for all he knew. Yet his mind was spinning. ITO? As in, the Interplanetary Treaty Organization, the unifying body of most of the world's nations? He knew that this material wasn't being obtained legally, but for UniStrand to take contraband from one of the few world authorities higher than them? Either they were extremely confident, or this material truly was the jackpot.

"Something wrong, Mister Fellman?"

Gettis returned to Sydney, and Myrda standing by the car holding a biohazard-marked box as if her life depended on it. "Nothing ma'am," he murmured. "Nothing at all."

"Good. Now start driving."

"Yes ma'am," the security guard responded. "Of course."

Getting inside the car, Gettis hoped the trip wouldn't be that long.

He didn't know how long he could look the other way.

* * *

"So...how long have you been working for UniStrand?"

"Fourteen years."

"Where did you study?"

"Mare Insularum University."

"I...haven't heard of it."

"It's on the moon."

"Oh...were you born there?"

"...is this going anywhere?"

"Just making friendly..."

"Well, stop it."

"...so, anyway..."

If there was a god, Myrda hoped he didn't conform to the Islamic interpretation. Because if there was indeed a Hell, Gettis Fellman deserved to burn in it.

It would be a fairly long trip to Rose Sector, and even longer to the as of yet undisclosed location that she'd be headed for with a new escort. It was a trip that wasn't made any easier by the rush hour traffic. True, Sydney's population had shrunk as people moved to new urban hubs such as Darwin, but there were still enough people living in it to bog down traffic, even if the business opportunities were about as shrivelled as its abandoned buildings. A safety precaution in some respects, in that the traffic would provide a natural shield for them. But for all the planning security had put into this operation, they clearly hadn't planned for drivers who didn't keep their mouths shut.

"...went to Eastwood Secondary School myself," Fellman continued. "Didn't make it into university though."

_I wonder why..._

"Had to take a job for UniStrand," the idiot continued. "Well, at least that's all behind me now, eh?"

"Yes...yes it will be," Myrda murmured as she browsed the latest news on her sPhone. "Must be great for you."

"Yes...well, you know how it is," the security guard babbled. "I mean...it's not as if I'm cut out to steal ITO materials."

Myrda gazed away from her phone, and not only because of the images shown from the latest Alaskan/Canadian border conflict."What do you know about ITO?" the scientist asked.

"Only that it's the unifying body for most of the world's population. And that whatever's in that box belongs to them."

"Those are big ears you have Fellman," Myrda murmured, shutting off her phone and gazing out into the cloudy evening sky. "Be careful your nose doesn't get any larger."

"...what?"

"Pinocchio, Fellman. The kind of stuff that wogs like you wouldn't know about."

Fellman snorted. "You know, sometimes I wonder how we ever left Earth. There's so many people that can't even look beyond it."

"Well despite what you think Fellman, I'm one of the people who _can_," the scientist snapped. "You can take the moral high ground all you want, but I'll remind you what life is about. The world's savage. Cruel. We can't help it, we can't change it, all we can do is try to mitigate it." She glanced at her driver. "People don't change Fellman. The times do, but the issues remain the same."

Fellman glanced back at her. "And what are _you _doing to mitigate it, doctor? Or are you simply going with the flow?"

Speaking of flow, the traffic was indeed flowing, in part due to them branching off down the route that would take them to Rose Sector-specifically its station, as Myrda recalled.

"You know, you never told me," Fellman continued. "What's in the crate?"

"You never asked," the scientist sighed. "And even if you did, why would I tell you?"

"I dunno...but for all you know, I could threaten to turn this car right round-..."

"Fat chance of that."

"Or take it for myself."

The scientist let out a bitter laugh. "Please, Fellman. You wouldn't have any idea of what to do with it, or who to sell it to."

"Could give it back to Williams."

"Maybe," Myrda admitted. "But you're not going to, are you?"

"I-..."

"You're not going to," said the scientist firmly. "You're not going to, because despite everything you say and think, you're still going to drive me to my destination. You're going to drive me, because there's a two million dollar cheque waiting for you and a lifetime to retired luxury that goes with it. You're going to drive me, because in the end, you're no different from anyone else. You make a big fuss about the way things are, but at the end of the day, you don't have the drive or motivation required to change that. It's a world of predators, Fellman."

The security guard remained silent. The traffic was clearing and they were nearing their destination, the only sound being that of the car.

"But cheer up," Myrda continued. "There's no reason to be ashamed of that."

"Yes there is..." Fellman murmured. "Yes there is..."

Smirking, Myrda went back to her sPhone. Bombings on Mars, riots on the moon, a bit of ethnic cleansing in some rogue African state she'd never heard of...the way things always were. Things that ranged from the latest SNAFU on Valhalla Colony, to the parking lot of Rose Sector Station. The lot that they drove into.

"And here we are," the scientist declared. "Nice ride."

Fellman remained silent. Just the way she liked it. As in, not disliking it, as in, disliking the fact that her second transport was nowhere to be found. It wasn't a big lot, and was outside, but of all the cars present, hers was nowhere to be found.

"Damnit..." the scientist murmured, having stepped out of the car, case in hand. "Where are they?"

"Traffic?" the security guard asked.

"Maybe..." she murmured. "But even so..."

Myrda felt a chill down her spine, and it wasn't just from the evening breeze. The issue of security hadn't been in her mind on the bridge. They'd had the traffic for protection. But out here, in this dilapidated sector...she felt vulnerable. Or at least she did until she saw a car on the street.

"T-I-A-nine-one-zero," Fellman murmured.

"Nice eyesight," Myrda said. "But that's my ride."

The two of them watched the car as it pulled in off the street. Watched as its beams illuminated them. Watched as those beams remained on an intense setting, blinding her. Watched as the car suddenly sped forward...forward...forward...

"Move!"

Myrda sprawled onto the floor as Fellman shoved both her and himself out of the way. The concrete was hard and cold…but preferable to being warm and wet.

"Move...move!" Fellman yelled, shoving Myrda to get behind a car. "Move before-..."

He shut up as the car was riddled with bullets.

"How about...not moving at all?" asked a voice.

Seeing an old woman get out of the car, armed with a sub-machine gun that was pointed at them, Myrda didn't see any reason to argue with that order.

* * *

_A/N_

_Update (3/6/12): Made adjustments as per feedback._


	6. Deadliest of the Species

.

**Interstellar Marines: Predators**

**Chapter 6: Deadliest of the Species**

_Oh God oh God oh God oh God..._

"That's it...hold still for little old me."

_Oh God oh God oh God oh God..._

"Nice evening. Sorry I have to spoil it."

_Oh God oh God oh God oh God..._

"...you don't talk much, do you..."

_...what?_

Myrda had heard a voice, but it wasn't that of a saviour, let alone deity. Rather, it was the process of being brought back to reality by the person who was in a position to remove her consciousness from it. A person who looked like an old woman, yet was juxtaposed with her stealth suit and her pointing a sub-machine gun at her prisoners.

"Is this a joke?" the scientist murmured, meeting the assailant's gaze. "You expect us to take you seriously at-..."

The assailant swung her gun arm, knocking Myrda's jaw and sending her sprawling into the pavement.

"I said you didn't talk much," the assailant murmured. "Would have been best if you'd kept to that."

Groggily getting to her feet, the scientist silently agreed. Fellman however, whose forehead was yet to feel the warm tingly feeling that blood brought, wasn't so willing to comply.

"I know you..." the security guard murmured. "That suit..."

"Yes...a stealth suit. Usually used in space operations where body heat plays a key role in the sub-zero temperatures of vacuum. Also has the nifty ability of amplifying user movement."

"That's ITO technology..."

"No shit deary," the old woman sneered. "And...hmm, you look familiar as well."

"I should..." Fellman snarled. "You left me for dead...you killed my friends...you...you..."

"That's nice," the assassin murmured, turning her attention back to Myrda. "Now about why I'm here...well, I think you already know..."

There was a brief interlude where Fellman started reaching for his gun, only for the assailant to grab the firearm first, empty its clip and toss it aside. Either the young man was very brave or very stupid. Myrda however, was neither. She did indeed know what the assailant wanted-the bio-sample that she'd been transporting. As said, she wasn't stupid. But not being particularly brave either, she wasn't sure what to do. Hand it over? Run? Neither option seemed particularly appealing, but the assassin had already killed at least three people today. It seemed that fear of damaging the sample was the only reason she hadn't killed them.

"I..." the scientist stammered. "I..."

"Oh for God's sake, the bio-sample," the seemingly old woman snapped. "The case you've got in your hand."

The biohazard box...Myrda had been clutching it tightly, yet had forgotten all about it in the heat of the moment. It was as if she was the centre of the universe, destined to die from heat death.

_What would dying be like anyway?_

"Put it on the ground," the assassin growled. "And walk away."

"So what?" Fellman snarled. "So you can shoot us? Like you did Eldon and Grunewald?"

"I suppose, though I have no idea who they are."

"They were-..."

"And I don't care, either," the woman continued. "But I'm feeling...jovial, tonight." She let out a grin that made her seem like a shark closing in on a floundering fish. "You have no idea how much this is worth..."

_Gonna kill us, gonna kill us... _Myrda thought.

"Money..." Fellman snarled. "It's all about-..."

"Oh spare me Fellman, I know how much you're being paid to walk away," the old woman snapped. The security guard opened his mouth but she beat him to it. "Yes, I know about your retirement plan, and the money that goes with it. So yes...I'm just like you. But before you start moralizing, keep in mind that yes, I'm a bad little girl. And yes, I _could _shoot you. The only reason I haven't is that I don't want Doctor Myrda here to drop the case when her body hits the floor. So leave the case, walk away, and I might just do the same."

_Gonna die, gonna die, gonna die..._

"So what will it be?" the assassin asked. "The easy way? Or the easier way?"

_Gonna die, gonna die, gonna die..._

"Well?"

_Could live...she wants the case...won't shoot while I have the case..._

"The case, Doctor Myrda."

_Gonna die...kill us...after case...need case...case save me..._

"Doctor, if you don't-..."

"**No!"**

It was the typical flight or fight reaction, with flight having been chosen and fight having been told to take a hike. Her mind taken over entirely by the need to survive. Nothing else mattered as she ran in the opposite direction, bar that single, overwhelming desire. That, and to keep the case at body height. The woman wanted the case. Myrda needed the case to live. It was as simple as that.

Perhaps that was why when the bullets came, they hit her leg, the case still falling out of her hands, but not being touched by any of the ballistics.

And yet for some reason, no more bullets came.

Not at her at least.

* * *

It was the typical fight or flight reaction. And while Myrda had opted for flight, it was clear that Fellman had opted to fight.

Blue supposed she had to give the man credit. He'd at least managed to return fire back in Sydney, and had even survived the experience intact (or as close as possible it was to be so). But credit was a luxury that she couldn't afford. Because while Myrda's flight had been aborted, it had taken up valuable time to ground her. And that was all the time it had taken for the security guard to sprint aside, grab his firearm and as Blue fired at him, dive behind another car, evading the bullets.

It was a motion that the former marine mirrored, taking cover as Fellman let loose a few shots at her.

_Idiots... _the assassin mused. _I'm surrounded by idiots._

Then again, she'd been fairly idiotic herself. Even if Myrda was holding the case, it would have been much easier to shoot Fellman straight away. Not simply take his gun away without even bothering to check whether he had any spare clips.

"So, Gettis..." Blue called out. "We back to playing cops and robbers again are we? Well, just so we're clear, I'm the robber, and you're the underpaid cop who's going to get a cheap funeral and maybe some bagpipes."

The security guard remained silent, causing Blue to fill her mental silence with curses. He was smart, as well as lucky. He probably didn't have that many rounds to spare, and wasn't going to waste them in a standard retort. She on the other hand had enough firepower to let off a spray at Myrda, who was trying to crawl away.

"Stay put bitch, or I'll put you down."

Myrda started crying.

_Oh, son of a..._

Blue dived aside. Fellman hadn't fired, but she'd seen the laser targeter in the darkness. UniStrand had equipped their lapdog relatively well, and if she was actually as old as she looked, the bullets might have hit. But the assassin was made of sterner stuff. And above all else, she had the experience. Enough to know that while a laser targeter would help a shooter normally, it would also work against him in the right circumstances. That was why she started popping off single shots at the car park's lamps, plunging the area into the darkness of winter night. The laser might help Fellman a bit, but he'd have no idea what it was bouncing off. And when he did use it, Blue would have a clear line of sight as to where he was.

Case in point, as the laser shone through the darkness again. Clear and crisp, Blue simply fired at its general point of origin.

"Always was good as laser tag..." Blue sneered.

Fellman didn't answer. Too bad. It would have been interesting to hear his last words. Because Gettis Fellman was as good as dead, and this little incident had pushed her to decide to execute Myrda as well. It would be a kill that there was little pleasure to be gained from, but Blue's charity had been spat on. And that didn't make her inclined to grant favours.

More red light shone through the gloom, its point of origin suggesting Fellman was trying to flank her. Grinning, Blue fired into the gloom, seeing what looked like a figure slump over the car.

_Bingo..._

Yet Fellman wasn't giving up. The laser shone from the car's boot, the security guard apparently trying to balance his pistol for his last desperate shots. Her grin now resembling a vampire's instead of a measly shark, Blue opened fire at the area. No way he could dodge those. His body would be-...

**Bam!**

Blue stumbled backwards. Blood spurted out from her right leg.

**Bam!**

And she fell down, her left leg suffering from the same fate.

_The laser…he's there…he's…_

**Bam!**

The third shot didn't hit her, but she saw where it came from. The laser was rested on the car's boot…yet the muzzle flash was coming from underneath the vehicle. A vehicle that had a shadowy figure vault over it, by it, grabbing the former marine's SMG and tossing it aside.

"H…how?" Blue asked.

Gettis Fellman held his firearm in one hand, still pointing it at her. And in the other, he held the laser targeter, shining independently, right at her.

"There's mud in your eye," he said simply.

* * *

Being alive wasn't as joyous as he thought it would be.

Gettis was sick of it all. Sick of guns, and the lead that came out of them (laser targeters being able to function independently notwithstanding). Sick of people like Myrda, putting so much stock in items that they'd risk their own lives for them. Sick of people like the crone in front of him-obviously not a crone at all, given how she could move. And in a way, he was sick of himself, of allowing himself to get into this position. His friends were dead, he was still alive, and he stood in a position where he could snuff out another human life with a simple flick of his trigger finger.

"So..." the assassin murmured. "You finally grew a pair."

A flick that was starting to become somewhat appealing.

"Why did you do this?" the security guard snarled. "What could possibly be in that crate that's worth killing for?"

The assassin chuckled. "Worth killing for? Honestly Fellman, people kill for much less. You think it's strange, what I do? Ask her." She gestured to Myrda, having crawled up onto the box to support her weight (her legs unable to support it) and seemingly, to protect the item as well. "The old bat-..."

"Old? Speak for yourself."

The woman laughed bitterly. "I'm thirty-four darling."

"..."

"I know. Fools everyone."

And Gettis included. What kind of person would do this, he wondered? Technology was sophisticated enough to make old people look young...but to go the other way? Vanity wasn't something he was particularly fond of, but to ruin your physical appearance, just so enemies would underestimate you...and for what? Cash? The thrill of the hunt? Simple gratification from killing?

"You know...I hate to interrupt..." Myrda called out. "But I wouldn't mind if you...you know...helped me..."

"And me," the assassin said. "Prisoner of corporate war and all that."

Gettis kept his eyes on his foe, and not only because she was the one that was still potentially dangerous. "You're awfully upbeat for someone who's headed for hard time."

"Hard time? Hardly. After seeing what I've done today, UniStrand will want my services exclusively." The woman smiled faintly. "Course, you _did _down me...maybe there'll be something in this for you as well."

Gettis stared at her. It was preposterous...yet somehow, there was a trait of realism in it as well. Somehow, he could see something like this happening.

"Hello?" Myrda called out. "We still have a delivery to make."

And then there was the good doctor. A.k.a. the doctor who seemed more concerned with making a delivery to UniStrand than blood loss.

"Of course..." the assassin continued. "Maybe you could spare me. Maybe we could team up."

"What?" Gettis asked. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. You're good with a gun. We head off, sell the dough, and maybe I'll even let my face down." She winked suggestively at him. "And my pants."

Gettis fired his pistol, the round hitting the pavement right between the woman. She didn't flinch, but did shift her eyes to the shell casing that he kicked over towards her.

"Shove that up your arse if you want," the security guard snarled. "It's all you're getting."

The woman didn't answer. Maybe she didn't have a comeback. Or maybe, at the end of the day, everything that had to be said had been done so.

Everything had been said. Yet not everything had been done.

"Doctor Myrda..." Gettis said eventually. "You said that crate contained material from ITO, right?"

"Yes," the doctor said, still leaning on the crate. "What about it? It's ours now, so-..."

"_Was_, ours."

"What?" Myrda asked. "What are you on about?"

Gettis sighed. "You asked me in the city, when ITO was mentioned...whether everything was alright. Whether I had a problem with transporting contraband material."

"Fellman, you can't seriously-..."

"And I said nothing was wrong," the security guard continued, sparing Myrda a glance before shifting it back to the assassin. "But that was a lie. This _is _wrong. Everything's wrong."

"What? Oh for goodness sake!" Myrda snapped. "We've been through this. It's a dog eat dog world, Fellman."

"And the cats? The mice? The rabbits?" he snapped back. "It's a world of predators indeed. If we're not killing each other in the interests of natural selection, we're killing each other for _new _reasons. Did you ever stop to ask what ITO was going to do with those things? How many people this genetic research could save? No. All you cared about was that UniStrand was the one who'd be reaping the rewards."

"And...and you can reap them too..." Myrda protested. "Just...think about it."

"I have," Gettis said. "And I've reached my decision."

Keeping his pistol in one hand, he pulled out his sPhone in the other. It was a simple call to make-just three zeros.

"It's a dog eat dog world, but we've let the dogs of war run around too long," Gettis said. "Now it's time to reign them in."


	7. Epilogue: Survival of the Fittest

.

**Interstellar Marines: Predators**

**Epilogue: Survival of the Fittest**

If one had seen the private, heavily armoured car heading across the Harbour Bridge, they might have thought the passenger was a ghost. A pale complexion, not helped by the shaded windows, and the sense to not rely public transport that had yet to break into maglev technology indicated that she had more intelligence than the living. No-one knew what came after death. But if one was going to join some bearded madman in the sky or be reincarnated, presumably your IQ went up as well.

Provided you weren't reincarnated as a goldfish. That would just be sad.

But Sen Sheraston was indeed alive, and not an example of _Carassius auratus _either. Japanese, her paleness didn't stem from face paint, but rather from the sheer amount of time spent in space. As an ITO official, she went where the work took her. Important enough to be called back to planetside business, but not important enough to be given a car with artificial gravity that could make her more comfortable.

_Well, at least the traffic isn't so bad..._the official reflected as she gazed out her window to the scant remaining traffic on the city streets. _Not like Darwin at least._

Yet at least Darwin's traffic was a different kettle of fish from its space elevator. A space elevator that Sheraston wouldn't have minded travelling down herself. But no. After receiving word from the Eastern New South Wales Police Department, ITO had given her a one-way shuttle ride all the way down to Sydney Airport, domestic traffic be damned. Xeno-13 had been in uproar after the theft of the specimens-no-one had expected a local to call it in.

_But rogue marines? Corporate wars? _The official smirked. Despite what official sources might claim, that wasn't as unexpected as some could wager. Not on this part of the continent at least. And while she was headed for a plane that would take her to ITO HQ in Europe, she knew that the differences between continents were mainly aesthetic. Mankind had reached the stars, but there'd always be the same crap to bring them back down to Earth. The same crap that Sheraston had to wade through less than an hour ago, flashing her credentials and retrieving the sample herself. The same crap that might actually benefit her.

**Connection established.**

The official's smirk was removed. A connection was a good thing, but in what was about to go down, she didn't think it that wise to show emotion. Not to people like York Powers and McGraw Hill.

"Gentlemen," Sheraston said, almost wishing she had a cat or similar animal to pet. "Good evening."

Both men opened their mouths to speak. Both men were cut off as Sheraston raised a hand.

"Let's cut through the red tape," the official said. "UniStrand and HelixRail have been sold out. Your assassin and security guard were both willing to talk, and we know that at the very least, you've been involved in the illegal dealings of genetic material."

"You actually believe-..."

"Miss, you've got it all-..."

Sheraston held up her hand again. "Now normally I'd leave that to whatever authority actually cares about what goes on behind the scenes. But your latest batch is Interplanetary Treaty Organization property. Which means I have to come down to Earth, develop muscle pains from the high gravity and have a fifteen hour flight to Europe. And which also means that someone just like me is going to be busting your chops for the next few weeks."

Neither of the two responded to that. They knew what they were in for...maybe. ITO wasn't blind to the types of illicit dealings genetic research could bring, and while it was a unifying power for most of the world's nations, it left most country's affairs to the countries themselves. On the other hand, this was a theft that stemmed back to space, the administration of which was left entirely to bodies like ITO. That it had been transported to Australia was irrelevant in this case.

"Still..." Sheraston continued. "There is an upside to all this."

"An upside? What do-..."

"I'm the only one on the ground," Sheraston continued. "The only one who's carrying three...space sharks. The only one in ITO who knows that the three sharks that were taken off the station are still in stasis."

Powers, who struck Sheraston as the more cutthroat of the pair, raised an eyebrow. "Ma'am...if you're suggesting..."

"Not suggesting..._offering_..." the official smiled, all thoughts of restraining emotional displays thrown to the wayside. "Offering...to make a report once I arrive at Sydney Airport. An offer to report that only two sharks were recovered, and that the third is unaccounted for."

McGraw snorted. "Unaccounted for? ITO will know that either UniStrand or HelixRail will have it."

"Not necessarily. Perhaps Mister Williams made a separate sale. And don't think of ratting on me or the loser either."

"Why?" Powers asked, defiant to the end.

"Because I'm the apex predator here," Sheraston answered. "Because all of this is being recorded. Because even if Hill gets the shark, you'll be jumping the shark as well. Because you've demonstrated a willingness to conduct business with me. And you wouldn't want _that_, would you?"

Powers opened his mouth...then closed it. Like the good dog he was, he knew when to heel.

"Very good," Sheraston said. "Now then...shall we start the bidding at two million? I believe that's what was offered to Mister Fellman at least."

It could have ended then and there. It could be that one or both of the CEOs would decide to cut their losses. Perhaps they could have reacted unpredictably.

"Two-point five," Hill sighed.

"Three," Powers countered.

But they wouldn't. It was the law of the corporate jungle. Expand or die.

And leaning back in her seat as the apex predator she was, Sen Sheraston waited to see how high up the jungle trees the monkeys before her were willing to climb.

**The End**

* * *

_A/N_

_And that's another story complete._

_I've mentioned this before (at least on my homepage) that I have mixed feelings about this story. Hate to reiterate myself, but...well, on the one hand, I'm surprised to get any responses bar those outside my writing group, and I certainly appreciate the feedback. And there's a certain quality to being able to write with minimal constraints on creativity and the like, such as worldbuilding. On the other, I'll again admit that this is a case of what I've call 'media hijacking,' and having complained about other authors doing it in tie-in fiction...well, a bit hypocritical of me I guess. Heck, there was even the question of whether I was aiming for a cyberpunk story, when the original media is nothing of the sort._

_Oh well. Mixed bag. I can live with that. Either way, don't have any other _Interstellar Marines _stories on my 'to write' list right now, but I am staying in space with a _Star Wars _story titled _Whispers of Infinitude_. Hope I can make the transition from sci-fi to space fantasy._


End file.
